


Something/Nothing

by Ponderess



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 21:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5307071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponderess/pseuds/Ponderess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tōru hates winter breaks. He hates all school holidays. They rip him out of the routine of pretending to be fine and going on and drop him into the confinement of his home where he can disappear in his room and waste away in a dejected trance. That's what his life has become when he doesn't have to go out, when he gets a break from his responsibilities: a literal waste of time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something/Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> This is unrefined and clumsy and really I just needed to vent. I tried to mash two moods together that are about a week apart, so there's a shift somewhere in the middle. It's also vague, but I don't give a shit right now, I just need this out there. I can doubt my decision tomorrow.

Silence. No ignored messages or unanswered calls, just the light falling dimly through cracks in the curtains. It's not dark outside yet, but the sky is hung with grey clouds and dusk is creeping up. That's the thing with winter: the days are passing way too fast, fading into black halfway through the late afternoon, and usually he would mind, but recently he's found himself demotivated and listless of what to do.

Tōru hates winter breaks. He hates all school holidays. They rip him out of the routine of pretending to be fine and going on and drop him into the confinement of his home where he can disappear in his room and waste away in a dejected trance. That's what his life has become when he doesn't have to go out, when he gets a break from his responsibilities: a literal waste of time.

He can't quite explain how it works, but with his teammates and friends around he has a reason to keep going, to keep up that smile as bright as possible and participate in practice and do his homework, so no one has reason to worry. Even Iwa-chan is buying it, despite giving him some suspicious looks and harsh remarks. That's about him overworking himself, though, not due to him slacking off.

At home he has given up on trying. His parents sometimes shoot him worried glances, but as long as his grades stay top notch they don't seem compelled to do anything about him shutting himself away in his room a few weeks a year. This is what, the third time now? Not quite a habit yet, just a phase.

Tōr hates it. His lack of motivation, his gloomy mood, his lack of communication, his need for attention, his self-imposed isolation. He's used to having people around, he's used to be a magnet to others, he's used to being productive. Yet when these moods hit there seems to be no way out of it. All he seems to be able to do is wait it out and wish. Wish that someone would check on him, ask him how he's doing. He'd pretend to be alright, probably, but at least he'd know that someone cared. That seems like a little detail but would mean so much.

The way he currently is it would mean the world, but it's too much to hope for. Of course he could reach out himself, but he doesn't have the nerve or the energy. Besides, he doesn't want to bother people. Tōru rarely feels obnoxious, but in times like this he does all the more.

Also, he's angry at anyone he knows who doesn't bother to contact him if he drops off the radar for a while. They seem to be doing just fine without him and not miss him at all. So why would he bother to talk to _them_ first. No way! They can all rot as far as he's concerned. Tōru knows that's not exactly fair. If he isn't letting them know that he isn't doing well, then how are they supposed to guess it — especially considering his history of pretending to be fine even when he wasn't. Still, he can't help feeling like that.

Though maybe "thinking like that" would be the more fitting phrasing. He doesn't know what he's feeling these days. It's more like he feels nothing at all. There's the memory of emotions and what his mind somehow expects him to feel, but deep down inside nothing of it is actually there. He's just numb.

On the outside, Tōru still responds in ways that are mostly expected. He laughs at a funny remark of his father at the dinner table or a joke on TV. He snaps when something is annoying or irritating to him. He even feels like he wants to cry sometimes (though the tears never come). 

Deep down inside, however, nothing really touches him. It all leaves him so unaffected and strangely indifferent when he thinks there should be more. He thinks it should go deeper than his superficial reactions. He thinks it should actually touch him in a way. It should be more than just words in his head. It should be real. Nothing like phrases in black on white paper that still make sense but somehow lost all their meaning to him.

Maybe he's sad somewhere beneath it all. That would explain why occasionally he wishes he could cry. It doesn't quite explain him getting frustrated over cooking, because he fucked up somehow and now the meat is still raw in the middle and he doesn't know how to fix it and why does he have to fix it anyway, he just wants this to be over, he just wants to drop everything and run away, he just wants to die, probably. In the end he doesn't really care.

When it's over it's over and he doesn't cry and he doesn't kill himself, he just goes on somehow, out of habit or instinct or whatever it is that keeps him holding on to his existence. It's not that bad, actually. It's quite bearable most of the time. Just that it's not that great either. And somehow pointless.

* * *

And when the emptiness fades he realises it was masking the sadness after all. He doesn't know what it's about and he can't make anything of it. There's no beauty in denial, there's no beauty in waking up in the middle of the night and realising that he's been fooling himself, but the at least night feels like home.

The light has become alien, the light is too bright and offers no comfort. He feels exposed, he feels out of his element. Whatever was there in the sun for him? Why would he ever miss the day? He shuts the blinds and hides away in the dark.

Tōru wants to cry more often now, but the tears still won't come. He's been holding them in for year after year after year — he no longer knows how to let them out. He catches himself wishing for death at random times still. It has become a frightening habit, when really, he doesn't want to die, he just wants things to change. He doesn't want to be like this, but he doesn't know at all what to do about it.

There are no words of comfort. Tōru can't assure himself and he doesn't allow himself to seek them from others. Maybe he's been keeping up the act for too long for anyone to notice. Maybe he's been holding things together for too long and now no one can picture him falling apart. Honestly, it happened a long time ago, he just managed to keep the pieces together, mostly.

Tōru didn't mean to leave things like that. He meant to get up again like he always does. But admittedly, it just keeps getting harder every damn time. One simple step seems like a lot more effort than it should and the worst is maybe that he can't remember it ever being any other way. Sometimes he wonders what he's doing it for. Why does he keep going on? Why does he try?

His mind is restless, thoughts wandering through fog without any aim or direction. During the day he tries to occupy himself, but he even strays from the things he likes. Nighttime comes but he finds no rest. A couple of hours before he jerks awake again. There are vague pictures lingering in his head, remnants from his dreams which he can't make sense of and dissolve before his inner eye.

There's a pain in his chest. He can't really find the words to best describe it, but at times it makes breathing seem so hard. He's not sure if it ties up his rib-cage and constricts everything in between — or if his chest is actually about to burst, because it's swelling up with hurt. There's a pain and it grows and it fades, but it never quite goes away.

Tōru can't see it anymore, he can't see the end of it. So many times he's picked himself up again. It was supposed to get better, it was supposed to stay better. He doesn't know how many more times he can move forward when sooner or later he always ends up back here. It's a slightly different feeling every time, yet it's all way too familiar.

He's still waiting for the tears to come, but even as he's lying there alone in his room he can't seem to make them well up. Probably one time too many that he told himself not to cry in the past — one time or a few more. He wonders how much damage he's done to himself and if there's a chance to fix it. But he's hopeless — a hopeless case. He's way off track and he can't see himself finding the right course.

In the end Tōru has nothing. He even forgets how sad he is. There's only that feeling spreading in his chest and it's nothing, it's just emptiness, painfully growing in his chest. Maybe his muscles are going numb now. Maybe it's going to infect his whole body and he won't be able to move and really it wouldn't be the worst thing. He doesn't want to fight it anymore.


End file.
